Chapter Text
The sun had barely crested over the jagged wall of the Red Keep, painting the stone in hues of pale gold and bruised violet. The dew was just settling on the grass; but Maekar had been awake for hours.
He sat before the polished silver mirror in his solar, a fine toothed comb resting idly in his hand. His reflection stared back. He was a young man of eighteen. His features sharp, his skin pale, and his hair cascading down his back like spun silk. He pulled the brush through a tangle, his movements rhythmic, almost frantic.
He wasn't just fixing his hair. He was steadying his heart.
The marriage had been forged in the fires of pure necessity. Two years ago, when he was only sixteen, the whispers of the Blackfyres had grown into a roar. They were wolves at the door, their eyes fixed on the Targaryen blood that flowed through his veins, seeking him to unravel the line of succession.
Baelor had stepped forward. He acted not just as the heir to the Iron Throne, but as a wall between Maekar and the chaos of the realm.
It had been a political marriage. It was spun by Brynden Rivers in way to make it alluring to the King and Queen. It was a move on the cyvasse board to secure the inheritance. It was to shut down the rumors of Baelor’s coloring.
But as the months passed, the cold, strategic arrangement had softened into something far more complicated.
Maekar set the brush down and walked to the balcony. His hands gripped the cold, rough stone of the railing.
"He is coming home," he whispered to the humid, heavy air.
The words felt both a relief and a terrifying weight. He remembered the look in Baelor’s eyes the night he had left. How could he not? He recalled the grim determination in those mismatched eyes. Determined to quell the unrest in the borderlands, the silent vow that he would return to his husband’s side.
Maekar had spent two years learning the precarious dance of court politics, keeping his head down and his lineage protected, all while waiting for the sound of Baelor’s heavy, rhythmic tread in the halls.
A low, resonant sound vibrated through the floorboards. The omega could the beginning of the distant, rhythmic blast of horns from the harbor gates.
Maekar’s breath hitched.
His heart hammered a frantic, uneven rhythm against his ribs. He felt the phantom pressure of the defeated Blackfyre threat, the lingering anxiety that always shadowed his days. But now, in this singular, crystalline moment, it was eclipsed by the anticipation of seeing the man who served as his protector, his husband, and his Crown Prince.
He turned from the balcony, his white hair whipping against his shoulders, and hurried toward the door. He didn't care about the expectation of his princely composure.
Baelor was home. And for the first time in months, Maekar felt safe enough to breathe.
The courtyard of the Red Keep was thick with the scent of summer dust and the electric hum of anticipation. Maekar stood near the center of the royal party, his hands clasped firmly behind his back to hide the slight tremor in his fingers.
He stood between his parents King Daeron and Queen Myriah, while Aerys and Rhaegal, flanked by their wives, chatted in low, hurried tones beside them. Above, the household staff crowded every available window and open walkway, heads craned like hungry birds, waiting for the return of the heir.
Then, the iron gates groaned, and the world seemed to sharpen.
Baelor rode through the archway, his seat in the saddle looking as natural as breathing. Beside him, their Uncle Brynden Rivers rode with a stoic, watchful intensity. But the heir commanded the space with an effortless, almost arrogant grace. He wore his travel leathers like armor, yet he moved with the swagger of a man who knew exactly how the afternoon light caught the sharp angle of his jaw and the confident set of his shoulders.
He brought his horse to a halt in the center of the yard, his gaze sweeping over the assembled court like a king surveying his kingdom. It was a practiced, charming arrogance. He knew the eyes of the Red Keep were upon him, and he gave the staff in the rafters a lazy, lopsided grin that had more than one serving girl blushing.
But then, his eyes locked onto Maekar.
The breath left Maekar’s lungs in a silent rush. Baelor’s expression shifted. The cocky, public facade melted away into something intensely private. His gaze traveled over Maekar, lingering on his white hair and the pale, sharp features he
had spent two years fighting to protect.
The look was heavy, possessive, and warm. It threatened to hold Maekar in place until the prince felt his knees go weak.
Baelor swung down from his horse, his movements fluid and athletic. He didn't rush to the King; he took his time. He walked with a confident stride that spoke of battlefields conquered and long nights.
He greeted their parents, King Daeron and Queen Myriah with the appropriate deference, bowing low. His eyes sparkled with an irrepressible confidence that suggested he knew he had done them proud. He offered a hearty shoulder greeting to his brothers, Rhaegal and Aerys, and a polite, courtly nod to their wives.
Finally, he turned to Maekar.
He didn't bother with the distance that rank demanded. Baelor stepped into Maekar’s personal space, his presence acting like an anchor, pulling Maekar out of the cold, anxious space he had occupied for months.
"You look well, Maekar," Baelor said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the air between them.
“Alpha.” Maekar breathed out, his bottom lip tugged between his teeth.
He reached out, his gloved fingers brushing a lock of silver hair behind Maekar’s ear with a tenderness that contradicted his cocky grin. "Though I see you’ve been worrying. You really ought to stop. It ruins the complexion."
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for Maekar. "I told you I would come back to you. Did you doubt me?"
Maekar felt the familiar, grounding warmth of his husband’s presence, and for the first time since the horns had sounded two years prior, he let the tension bleed out of his shoulders.
Baelor was home, and the world was finally right again.